


A hound among foxes

by Ernmark (M_Moonshade)



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Juno is a bodyguard for the royal Kanagawa family, M/M, Mag and Peter are revolutionaries, lots of deception and attempts to seduce each other under false pretenses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-02 01:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16776544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/Ernmark
Summary: After the Kanagawas' favorite bodyguard has crossed one too many boundaries, he's sent undercover to infiltrate the local ring of revolutionaries.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> koshertaako asked:
> 
> Hello!! This is probably sooooo out there but what about an au where juno is a royal guard to the kanagawa family and is sent to infiltrate and spy on the small but growing and increasingly worrisome group of rebels who want to overthrow the martian monarchy and falls for idealistic revolutionary peter

When Juno is summoned, it isn’t to the big open throne room where Croesus conducts official business, or the office where more private matters are seen to. No, he’s summoned to the study, and that scares Juno in ways that nothing else can.

The study is Min’s base of operations. 

She’s already there when he arrives (she always is), a tea service beside her and a steaming cup held daintily in her hand. Everything about her demeanor is composed, professional, and inviting, and that just reinforces that Juno needs to be on guard. He salutes. 

“Oh, Juno. I’m so glad you’re here. Sit down, would you?” She indicates an antique imported chair across from her, and he sits.

“You asked to see me, Ma’am?” 

Her smile is as bright as stage lights. “I just wanted to give you the good news myself, Juno dear. There’s been some new developments in that investigation into the rebels causing all that fuss in the city.”

“That… is good news,” Juno says carefully.

“Isn’t it, though? But that’s hardly the best part. You’re being promoted.” She clasps her hands together. “You’re going to go undercover to investigate the rebellion personally.”

No. Wait. No.

“There’s got to be a mistake,” Juno blurts out. “I’m not a cop, I’m a bodyguard.”

“And by catching these awful rebels, you’ll be protecting the family.” Her smile hasn’t shifted by a micron, but it’s gained an edge. “Why, Juno? Do you have some reservations about this assignment?”

“No,” he says quickly. “No, I just think McCrory would be better suited for this kind of assignment. I wouldn’t want to take this kind of honor away from him.” 

“Don’t be modest, Juno.” Her lips part to show just the barest hint of teeth. “I have it on good authority that you’re quite the actor.”

Juno swallows, and it feels like he’s gulping down broken glass. 

For months now, he’s been helping Cassie sneak out of the palace at night– to talk to the common people, she says, to see how they really live. He knows it’s against the rules, but she’s gonna do it one way or another; at least if he goes with her, he’ll be around to protect her in case something bad happens.

But lately they’ve been getting sloppy. There was that fight in Satan’s Diner– Juno got her out of there before things got ugly, but not before he cracked a rib or two. 

The next morning, Min asked him about it, and he’d lied to her face. That may have been a mistake.

Min sets her tea down on its saucer. “Gather your things, Juno. You’ll be be moved into your new apartment in the morning.”

* * *

Juno spends a week wandering the streets, just trying to get a feel for the city. Sure, he used to live here, but it’s been years since he moved into the guard quarters in the palace. 

Min might have overstated the strength of her lead (of course she did); their operatives have gotten a bead on some of the favorite haunts of the rebel ringleaders, but they can’t get him an introduction to the people in the inner circle, and they don’t have anyone who can vouch for him. Sure, he could just walk right in and introduce himself, but that’s a fast track to getting shot. In the end, they go with a setup, ambushing a low-level lookout by the name of Kay, just so Juno can step in and come to their rescue. 

It’s a way into the resistance, but it’s not a great one. Kay is a twitchy, flighty little thing, but that means they take up Juno’s offer to stay with them and keep an eye out for another ambush. For weeks it’s just that– sitting on dumpsters and leaning against fire escapes and making uncomfortable small talk to keep Kay calm. Juno starts to think that this might be Min’s real plan, after all: that she’s going to keep him trapped here doing nothing until he’s ready to retire. Sure, it’s a bit bloodless for her style, but it’s definitely hellish enough.

And then one day Kay comes to him, looking twitchier than usual. 

“Hey,” they say. “Um… you know how you said you’ve always got my back and all?” 

That’s a red flag if Juno ever heard one. “Something up, Kay?”

“Maybe.” They fidget with the piercing under their lip. “I… uh… might have mentioned you to a friend of mine.”

“You mentioned me?”

“It’s just that you’ve got a good eye, and this friend– he really needs someone to keep an eye out for him, too. Only what he’s doing… might get dangerous.” 

Juno raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Listen, I know it’s a lot to ask but he means a lot to me. He’s been my best friend since we were kids, you know? I don’t want anything to happen to him. And you– well, you’re good at keeping people safe. Better than anyone I know.”

“Okay, fine, fine. Lay off the flattery, Kay. If this is so important to you, then I’ll see what I can do.” Juno sighs, but affectionately. “So does this friend of yours have a name?”

“It’s Peter. Peter Nureyev.”

* * *

Peter Nureyev. According to the recon Juno’s been given, he’s definitely a member of the resistance, and he’s higher in the pecking order than Kay.

Where exactly that puts him, though, is anybody’s guess. He seems to do a little bit of everything– one minute he’s a courier, the next he’s in a meeting room with the big names, the next he’s behind the wheel of an armored car and ridding a bank of enough creds to finance their little revolution for a year. Recon has never seen anyone discipline him, but who knows if that’s because he outranks them or because he’s just that good. 

And he is good. For all the recon that’s been done, there aren’t any decent pictures of the man’s face. It’s always hidden behind some accessory or turned away from the camera, though he’s easy enough to identify by his body type. Most people don’t come that tall and lean.

Then the meeting happens.

Nureyev is waiting for them in a back table in one of the hazy dive bars the resistance is so fond of, partially obscured behind one of those oxygen-scrubbing plants that’s so popular in these establishments. And then Juno and Kay slide into the booth, and the lack of pictures makes a whole lot more sense. Not because Nureyev is hiding himself at all, but because if Min ever got a good look at his face, she’d snap him up in an instant to star in her propaganda streams.

At a distance he’s good looking, but not enough to be intimidating, with a face that seems too soft for something as ugly as a rebellion– right until he smiles. He has teeth that look like they could draw blood, and a quirk to his grin that suggests they already have.

“So this is the legendary sharpshooter,” Nureyev says, extending a hand. “Kay has told me so much about you.”

“Legendary?” Juno glances accusingly at the lookout.

“What? I just said you’re good.”

“They said you can hit a moving target from two blocks away,” Nureyev adds. “Was that an exaggeration?”

His eyes are impossibly bright– laser bright– so intense that they’re burning a hole in Juno’s skull, and Juno can’t look away.

“I didn’t say it was.” 

“He’s the real thing,” Kay says eagerly. “He’ll take good care of you, Pete.”

“Oh, I’m certain of that.” Nureyev’s lip quirks dangerously, and Juno swallows. “If Kay says you’re trustworthy, then that’s all I need to hear. I look forward to working with you, Dahlia Rose.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thefinalbean asked:
> 
> i love any and all royal guard/rebel stuff plz keep writing that one if you get a chance, it’s amazing

The beam of a flashlight marks the guard as she makes her rounds, circling the front of the Lavoie mansion. A second guard is patrolling inside, marked by glimpses of light in the windows, and a third watches the grounds from a walkway on the roof.

“You know, most people just use a regular old security system,” Dahlia mutters from the vantage point in the alley. “Or a dog.”

“That’s because most people don’t bring highly-classified government projects home with them.” That’s what two of them are here to steal, among other things. Tonight they’ll have only the security guards for company. Doctor Musa Lavoie and his partner will be spending most of the night at a royal gala, being honored for their advancements in military-grade riot control. Peter’s here to make sure those advancements are never used. “As soon as that guard passes the door, there’ll be a three-minute window when the side door is out of sight of all three guards.”

Dahlia peers at the door. “You sure you can do it? Three minutes isn’t a lot of time.”

Is that what he thinks? He’ll be easy to impress, won’t he? “Three minutes is more than enough for my needs. But there’s still a chance of us getting caught if one of the guards breaks routine.” 

“And that’s what I’m here for. Got it.”

“Have you?” Peter raises an eyebrow. “You seem awfully sullen about the endeavor.” 

“That’s just my rugged charm. Doctor says I’m _naturally unpleasant_.” Dahlia glares at the passing guard. “But I’d be a whole lot happier about this if I knew more of the plan.”

He’ll just have to be disappointed. There isn’t one plan, but several, each with contingencies in case of emergency. This isn’t Peter’s first high-security theft, after all. “The plan is for you to stay with me and keep an eye out so I can focus on my work. And that starts…” The guard finally turns the corner. “ _Now_.”

The two of them pad across the grounds in near silence, and Peter kneels over the door panel, easing it open and slipping a data stick into the access port. All it takes is a few lines of code and a homebrew lockpick program to override the system. All the while Dahlia stands over him, his hand on his blaster, his eyes sweeping the grounds for sign of disturbance. 

Peter doesn’t need to say a word. The moment he’s through the door, Dahlia is behind him, covering his back and scanning the entryway for more guards. He doesn’t give an all clear so much as he catches Peter’s eye and jerks his head, but Peter catches his meaning instantly– there’s a guard off to the left, close enough to hear. Peter adjusts his plans accordingly. 

Together they make their way up sweeping staircases, across open landings, and through hallways that look more suited to museums than to a private residence, ducking and dodging out of the way of the security guards still making their rounds.

And to Peter’s surprise, he’s enjoying himself. Usually having a partner takes all the fun out of these sorts of missions, robbing them of the elegance and artistry Peter prides himself on. Inevitably his considerable talents are wasted cleaning up the mess made by a more clumsy pair of hands.

That isn’t the case with Dahlia. The two of them move around each other with the efficient grace of dancers, exchanging cues and unspoken signals so subtle that they’re nearly subliminal. If Peter didn’t know any better, he would assume that Dahlia was reading his mind, rather than his body language. 

Fortunately, that isn’t the case.

The beam of a flashlight crosses the hall ahead of them, and the two of them freeze. 

Peter catches Dahlia’s eye and signals him with a jerk of his head, and the two slip silently through the nearest door. The master bedroom.

Dahlia positions himself beside the door; if the guard pokes his head inside, he’ll be caught in an ambush. While his attention is occupied, Peter allows himself to drift deeper into the room. It looks like the maid has been in recently; the bed is pristine, the floor is devoid of debris, the vanity mirror is spotless. The only signs of life are a few hairs clinging to the hairbrush, likely from a bit of last-minute grooming before Lavoie left for the gala. Peter tugs the spare hairs from the brush and folds them into a handkerchief, tucking it into his pocket.

When he looks up, he finds Dahlia’s eyes on him, though his expression is difficult to read in the dark. At Dahlia’s feet, the last bit of light fades from the crack under the bedroom door. 

Peter gives a flick of his fingers, and the two of them are moving out. Now that the guard is moving away from them, they’ve got a straight shot to Lavoie’s home office. The lockpick program deals with the first layers of security; an analog key deals with the second, and they’re inside. 

A reinforced safe hangs on the far wall– one of Lavoie’s own inventions. There are three sets of locks, the last of which has a randomized code that changes at irregular intervals. Even for a man of Peter’s skill, this is going to take a while, and so he grabs a seat. The chair’s legs scrape on the floor, and Dahlia jerks.

“Shit,” he mutters, readying his blaster. “Someone might have heard that.”

“This room is far too heavily soundproofed for that,” Peter says, starting on the first of the locks.

“Does that mean we can actually talk now?”

Peter doesn’t look up. “I hope the lack of running commentary wasn’t too painful for you?” 

“That’s what an inner monologue is for.” Dahlia steps closer, watching Peter work. “You mind telling me what you were doing back there?”

“Hm?”

“In that bedroom. With the mirror.” 

Peter flashes an easy grin. “I know I make it look effortless, Dahlia, but you don’t get to look as good as I do without a bit of vanity.” 

Dahlia’s eyes remain on him, unimpressed. 

Peter sighs, growing somber. “If you must know, I was admiring Levoie’s earring tree. He’s got quite the collection.” The first lock gives way. “Tell me, Dahlia, have you ever seen Trappist sapphire up close?”

“What?”

“Levoie has two sets of Trappist sapphire earrings. Each one of those stones is worth more than the car we drove here. There are children starving in this city. They could eat well for years with the kind money that Levoie spends on _accessories_.” 

A silence falls between them while Peter works on the second lock.

“So why didn’t you take them?” Dahlia asks. “They were right there, weren’t they? Why not just grab them and feed some orphans?”

“Because stones that valuable will attract attention. The moment the go on the market, the constables will be on the scene, and then I’ll have one less business associate. Besides, even a good deal of money would only be a short term solution. Those earrings might be able to feed a handful of people for a year, but by the year’s end they’ll be hungry again, and they won’t be alone. To make any lasting difference, the system itself needs to be changed.” 

The second lock opens, and he turns to the third.

“You really think you can change it?” Dahlia asks quietly. “It’s not that easy.”

“If it was easy, it would have been done already. But I have an obligation at least to try. Now shh. I’m trying to concentrate.” 

His hand hovers over the lock for a moment. There’s no outward sign that the password is resetting itself, no indicator as to whether it already has or if it’s going to.

Dahlia stares at the lock warily. He was told about this part of the job before he signed on– this is why it was so important that Peter not come alone.

“Is there a trick to it?” he asks. “Some kind of sound or something?”

“It’s entirely random.”

“Levoie has to be able to get in here, doesn’t he?” 

“Certainly, with the use of a digital key embedded in his hand and a memorized cipher. There are ways of retrieving those, of course, but there are certain lines I would rather not cross.” Besides, the new system is going live tomorrow evening, which is hardly enough time for that route.

“So what’s your real plan?”

“It’s simple, really.” Finally Peter starts working at the lock. “It’s one part skill, one part chance–” The number he entered is wrong; it’s kind enough to inform him of such with the blaring of an alarm and a bright red light that floods the room. “And one part Dahlia Rose.” 

“What?”

“Quickly, Dahlia. The door.” His voice betrays more tension than urgency. His fingers are flitting over the keypad, adjusting the code accordingly. Just because the alarms have gone off doesn’t mean the safe has automatically shut; he has as long to crack the safe as Dahlia is able to give him.

The door opens at the far end of the room, letting in shouts and the shriek of alarms from the hallway. The flash of lasers adds bright blue-white light to the red of the alarms, and then a pair of bodies hits the floor. Dahlia shouts and slams the door, but not before another laser strikes the makeshift barrier. Peter inhales the acrid scent of burning paint.

Dahlia throws himself against the door, then throws it open and sends another volley of lasers. The third guard goes quiet; the radio, however, doesn’t.

“Officer Lebrowski, please stand by. Backup is on its way.”

“Nureyev, we need to get out of here,” Dahlia says. 

“Just a moment, Dahlia. Just a…” The little red indicator light goes green. “There we are.” He throws open the safe door and shoves its contents unceremoniously into his pockets, and they’re running, out of the office and though the museum-like halls of the mansion. Constables arrive on the scene, guns drawn and ready to fire. Dahlia shoots them down with a master’s precision, and the way is clear for them to escape the mansion– but only just. As soon as they’ve cleared the mansion doors, they’re met by the flashing lights of police vehicles speeding their way.

Peter grabs Dahlia and ducks into a back alley, and then into another, zigzagging through the streets while the police give chase. Dahlia’s trying to keep up, but his breaths are labored and his steps are starting to drag. He can’t keep this up forever. Neither of them can.

He keeps running, following the distant sound of music. They’re getting closer to the bar district, where the buildings bleed neon light and base beats so heavy that they vibrate the sidewalk. It’s still early enough that throngs of people are lined up on the sidewalks, waiting to get in to their club of choice, while others meander into the surrounding bars in ones and twos.

Dahlia stumbles to a stop. “Wait.”

Peter glances down the alley. The police car overshot it just barely, but they’ll be back any second. The nearest night club and its line of people is just across the street– those few seconds will be more than enough time to dive in among them. 

“Just a little further,” Peter urges him. “We’ll blend into the crowd.”

“No.” He’s breathing hard. “We can’t do this. If they shoot into the crowd–”

They don’t have time for this. 

Peter slips out of his coat and throws it to the floor, and then he grabs Dahlia by the shoulders, pushing him backwards into the alley wall and pin him in place. He’s so close he can feel each one of Dahlia’s labored breaths pressing against his ribs. 

Dahlia’s half-frozen, his eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

For what feels like the first time that night, the two of them are out of sync.

Peter leans in, uncomfortably close. “We don’t need to be a part of the crowd to blend into it.” He braces his arm against the alley wall, shielding Dahlia’s face just as the police cruiser’s headlights flood the alley. 

For a moment Dahlia is stiff, frozen in the police cruiser’s headlights. This isn’t going to work if the two of them don’t sell it, after all, and the police are getting closer with every second. 

For a chilling moment, Peter can feel the light on his own face, burning into his eye, and then Dahlia’s arms are around his neck and his forehead is pressed against his as if they’re in the breathless moments before a kiss.

“You sure they’re gonna buy it?” Dahlia whispers, so close that Peter can feel the words as much as he can hear them.

Peter meets his eyes with an unspoken question. Dahlia gives the slightest of nods. And then they close those last millimeters between them. 

The first moment of it is stiff, almost mechanical. Peter kisses him harder, trying to coax him– they need to sell this, after all. Dahlia seems to catch his meaning. He melts into him, kissing him back with renewed fervor, and Peter’s almost pushed off the wall by the intensity of it. He pushes back, his free hand sliding to Dahlia’s belt line, tugging at his shirt to expose a line of bare skin– for authenticity, of course. He’s distracted from the task when Dahlia’s leg hitches over his thigh, and _oh_ , that is clever. Of course, it would be a dead giveaway if Peter were to ignore such a signal.

The cruiser passes them by and turns onto the street, where its bright headlights wash over the crowd. 

Dahlia and Peter stay on that wall long after it’s gone, just in case it comes back.

* * *

It’s almost midnight by the time Peter arrives at the apartment. His key is barely in the door before it swings open and he’s swept inside by a pair of massive arms.

“You made it,” Mag says, shutting the door behind him. “You were cutting it close there, Pete.”

“Yes, that was the point.” Peter strides across the apartment and begins emptying his pockets onto the table. Moments later Mag joins him there.

“What have you got for me?”

“The entire safe.” Most of these codes will be useless within hours, but the rest of it should be valuable, as will the time wasted while the government recalibrates their entire security system to compensate for the thefts. He adds a handkerchief to the score and carefully unfolds it, revealing several long hairs. “And a sample of Levoie’s DNA.” 

And just like that, the biometric lock on his laboratory is as good as open.

“Excellent, excellent.” Mag’s hand hovers over the handkerchief, but he glances back up at Peter. “And he didn’t see you take it?”

Peter gives him a look. “Really, Mag, you taught me better than that.”


End file.
